CatSkin Fever
by Angela and MiniMix
Summary: Lives of sex booze and alcohol mix and entangle in the anonymity of the night on the streets of L.A. Drop your worries at the door and knock back a shot, friend. Welcome to the nightlife. Welcome to CatSkin Fever. -LLMNMB-
1. CatSkin Fever

**Angela: **Yet another co-written story from me, go figure. I seem to be good at those. O: This time, it's between me and Contemptus Saeculi.

Also, because this is my one hundredth story, I'm going to do something special for it. First person to review _CatSkin Fever_ gets a special oneshot from me, written the way they'd like it. I'll PM the first reviewer for specifics on the oneshot, so don't worry about specifying it right away. O:

And with that said, I'll leave you to the story. (Which is AU, in case you haven't noticed)

* * *

Mihael held his ID out at one of the bouncers at the door to the nightclub, _CatSkin Fever_. The man waved him inside with a nod and a slight smirk. Mihael-Mello, he corrected himself when he stepped inside the club- had been working here for the past two years now, and this routine had become normal. Show his employee ID, step inside, and change his name from Mihael to Mello.

He gave a half-hearted wave in the direction of the bar, where L was pouring a shot for some drunk sitting in a corner. As always. Nothing ever changed at the _CatSkin_, and nothing ever would. For someone like Matt, sitting at the bar, that would have pissed him off, had he been a bit more awake and a bit more sober.

Matt was weary of a life of routines for everything. He accepted the SnakeBite with a mumble of thanks, a almost-sigh. His eyes were burning behind his tinted goggles, no thanks to the nine consecutive hours he'd spent staring at code in order to get his job done. He planned on spending most of his paycheck tonight- the less for the cops to trace the better, right?

The door on the far side opened and Mih-Mello strides in. Matt could see the switch clearly. Mihael was shoved aside as Mello's gait, a hippy swagger- a strut that screamed _'Keep watching, it gets better'_- came to surface as soon as he crossed the threshold. His eyes narrowed and his lips twisted and oh, there's danger there.

Matt rolled his eyes and took a healthy swig of beer and cider- just another night in the _Catskin_, then. Their star was here at last.

Mello strutted his way across the floor, avoiding anyone who grabbed for him, and made his way to the room where the dancers got ready. Once back there, he swiftly changed into the outfit he always wore. Not that it could be called an outfit; it revealed more than it covered.

Matt watched him go backstage before turning back to his drink. His sad puppy eyes narrowed at the dregs of his drink- now he remembered why he hated Snakebites _They taste like ass, _he thought scornfully, before finishing the lot.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked around- the place was starting to fill up, it was close to show time. So _he_ would be there soon. Probably. Matt sighed through his nose and signaled L for something better, something stronger.

L made a hand motion signaling he understood and turned to make Matt's favorite drink. The younger man looked like he was waiting for someone, and L had a pretty good idea of who. Sliding the glass across the bar to Matt, he leaned against it and began to wipe a glass.

"You look tired," he commented idly. He wasn't friends with the other man, but Matt was Mello's friend, so L didn't mind talking to him from time to time.

There was a flicker, a heartbeat, as Matt made eye contact. Not that the other man would know it - tinted goggles always hid his eyes, especially inside the club. Then he rasied his glass to his lips, but did not drink.

"Long day... that's all." Perhaps that wasn't the best answer he could have given, but it wasn't not a total lie either. Matt decided to stick with that for now. He sipped and felt the corner of his lips twitch up slightly- the vodka burned, but who cared? He was just killing time, killing boredom, killing- something. He wasn't sure, but Matt was content to wittle away the hours with the infamous L- the man whom both Mihael and Mello had set their sights on, only to be hung out to dry time and time again. Not that Matt cared- he just got sick of listening to it every other night.

Even apathy had its limits

L nodded absently. "Of course. It's always a long day. It'll be a longer night." And it would be. The _CatSkin_ was frequented by people who lived such lives. Men-and women, but they weren't as frequent- who needed a place to sit and knock back enough alcohol to kill the unwanted thoughts that plagued them haunted the place. The _CatSkin_ was a safe haven on the brutual streets of L.A, a city that never slept.

It was, in effect, a world of its own.

The corner of Matt's mouth twitched wryly, and he itched for a cigarette. Never one to deny himself, he lit one up- looking all the world like a young James Dean with nothing to lose.

"A perk then, L. One good thing in this sea of shit."

A blonde woman tittered a few bar stools down, on the arm of another more conservative and solemn woman. For a minute he thought the blonde looked vaguely familiar, before it hit him - she was the world's top model for now, Misa Amane, known as MisaMisa across the world. What she was doing in a bar in L.A. he had no idea, but from the look of it, he knew what she wasn't doing: going home alone. Three men-all drunk by this point- had joined the two women and were making passes. And if Misa's laughter and inability to stand on her own were any indication, one of the three-hell maybe all of them- would get lucky tonight.

The taller, paler, more composed of the two females felt the irratation welling up inside, behind a facade years in the making. She sighed through her nose and finished her martini in one swallow, before sliding the olive into her mouth. The man to her right waved the barkeeper to keep the drinks pouring and she nearly rolled her eyes. Yes, they were a fun distraction but she wasn't going home with any of them, and she thought- with a rather pointed glance to her drinking buddy (who was slopping something fizzy and pink down her chest)-neither is Misa. Besides, Mikami would be joining them shortly. At Misa's prodding, all three of the lovers had decided to check out the famous 'Mello'. Why not, right? Live it up and all that jazz.

L looked up as suddenly the lights in the club dimmed and the music on the second floor where the dancefloor and DJ were located stopped playing. Mello was coming out. L's eyes flew to the young man with white hair-Near, his mind supplied- who had slipped into the club unnoticed as Mello sauntered out. Nothing but flimsy cloth and sex appeal covered the stripper who was working his way across the stripper's floor, where money was already flying.

Everyone loved Mello. Mello didn't love any of them.

A new song started up, something Mello had most likely picked out himself for the DJ to play.

While all eyes were on this evening's entertainment, Matt's eyes only sought the deceptively young looking man Mello had mention briefly in passing the other night- Near? Yes. Near.

On the other side of the room, at a two person table doused in shadows sat Near, his white skin, white hair and black dead eyes contradicting everything. There wasn't expression on his pale face, except maybe faint longing. Raw want, who knows? It's hard to tell with this kid, who's eyes are always dead and who never has a reaction to anything.

Near's eyes stayed glued to Mello's form as the other moved in ways he'd never thought _possible _for a human body to move. To call Mello beautiful would be an understatement, he decided. Mello was _perfection _in a slim, blond blue-eyed body. He couldn't get enough of him.

"Ne, ne, Takada-chan!" Misa's hushed whisper sounded close enough to her that Takada felt her hair flutter with the hot breath_. _She only managed to nod, knowing that Misa _got this. _Mello wasn't so much a dancer as a work of bloody art. Usually Takada would turn up her nose at such vulgar acts but hot damn. Mello was... something else.

Something else indeed.

He didn't move in small jerky bursts the way the other dancers did, he moved like_ water_. Every step he took, every move he made fit together like a finished puzzle, and even in the hazy smoke from cigarette butts and dim lighting, he was perfect. And he knew it too. He leaned closer to one of the men by the stage but was gone before the other's hand could even begin to reach for him. Mikami-who'd joined them by now- made a noise of approval in the back of his throat.

"He's good at what he does."

Misa clutched at him with a grin and a squeal of agreement while Takada couldn't bring herself to look away. Her drink had long since been forgotten and oh, she was being sucked in._ Mello has that effect on people, _she'll later think wryly with a shake of her head. But now, just now, is this art or raw want, she can't think, she wasn't sure.

Matt seemed to be the only one immune to the 'Mello-Effect', as he'd dubbed it. He tapped ash onto the countertop like this was nothing, and sipped his drink and watched Near watch Mello.

It was strange and pathetic, and Matt wished he could care.

L slid a third drink before Matt. "It's on the house," he said, nodding before mixing a drink for someone else. He didn't know why they bothered ordering drinks when Mello was on stage. When Mello danced, no one drank.

A low sigh and Matt exhaled lazy smoke rings at the ceiling, "Thanks, L."

He didn't really get what all the fuss was about. Sure, Mello was attractive, and yeah, Mello knew how to work it, but it nothing to get so awestruck about. But then again, Matt wouldn't exactly object if it was Near up there.

L didn't answer this time, watching Mello. He'd never understood why the blond had even taken the job two years ago, but he didn't care enough to ask. And Mello never cared enough to answer.

After what felt like forever, Mello stopped dancing and bent to scoop up all the money off the floor. It was more than usual but he didn't bother stopping to count it as he vanished behind the curtains to change into the outfit he'd come in with. He'd dance again later, but for now he was thirsty. Changing quickly, he came out and slid onto a stool next to Matt. He leaned against the countertop. "The usual, L."

Matt relinquished his cigarette long enough to finish his drink, and tore his eyes away from Near who- oh_fuck! _Eye contact! Matt stiffened slightly, if only for a moment as the albino's dead gaze moved on - to Mello no less! Matt wanted to cackle bitterly at the sky, then curse Kira for his misfortune. He took in another lung-full of toxin and called it even. A few feet away, Takada and Misa conversed in low, frantic whispers, closecloseclosalmostkissingclose. They laughed together before Takada remembered her drink and Misa ordered another. The booze burned her throat going down, but sat warm in her belly. Takada felt its effects at last- warm and loose and floaty and dammit she was smiling flirtily at the bartender for no other reason than the fact that his hair fell into his eyes and the contrast between skin and clothes and eyes was black on white on lust. Mello noticed the flirty smile and took malicious pleasure in informing the woman that L was gay and taken. Not by him, he thought in somewhat annoyance, but taken nonetheless. He smiled a sickeningly sweet smile filled with poison as he told her, and then turned back to Matt. "My stalker's here again."

Takada blinked, thoughts slower than usual. Then she huffed and rolled her eyes. She almost informed 'Mello' that for someone so slutty, he was a fucking prick. But then again, Takada was a lot...free-er with her speech and her everything when she had been drinking. She kept her composure while Misa sent the pretty boy a dulled, dirty look as he turned away.

Matt rasied his brows and exhaled. "Yeah? Hadn't noticed." He offered a shrug absently, not even an apology, but instead a question, _'Who? Where?'_

Mello pointed to Near absently before downing the drink L handed him. "He's here every night that I am. He tips great for the lapdances but he thinks we've got a relationship going," he said dully. Normally he'd go on letting Near think they had a relationship but lately the white-haired kid-like guy had begun getting grabby with Mello. Mainly in places Mello did not like being touched. "Wanna go tell him off for me?"

Matt let his shadowed eyes slide from one guy to the other and back, thinking, weighing pros and cons. He would- well, he'd have an excuse to get closer, to talk to him. But there was that annoying habit people tended to stick to when confronted with bad news- the _Shoot the Messenger _technique. At long last Matt shrugged and lit another cigarette, snubbing out the spent one and exhaling.

"... Fight your own battles man," he said at last with an exhaled smoke-breath. _More importantly, don't get me involved in your weird ass love life- I don't want _my_ chances going down the drain because of a shoot the bearer of bad news mentality. "_Why not have the bouncers throw him out if he's getting... delusional?"

"Because he's my best paying customer and I'd rather just have him see reality than kick him out if there's a chance I'll still get money outta the kid." Mello's answer was calm and straightforward as he threw back a second drink. If he got drunk enough, he'd do a lapdance or two for some of the more sleazy guys at the back of the club, he figured. The sleazier they were, the better they paid.

The answer seemed simple to Matt- glaringly obvious. "So why not hook up with another guy in front of him?" _Why was he still talking?_ Matt frowned to himself and gulped his forgotten drink. Long ago he'd learned not to try and talk silly little things like morals and empathy into Mello; it was better to go along with it, scoffing and rolling his eyes. Or sit out and watch the fun.

"Because there's not one I want," he said, his tone that of finality. The subject had been closed for the night, it seemed. He staggered to his feet, all leather and alcohol and sex appeal and took a step forward. "I'm going to do some lapdances. I need more cash." He stalked off, to find someone who looked lonely. He didn't spare Near a glance when he passed the table.

Matt snorted quietly, scoff of the highest degree. Mello with his impossible standards and high hopes. Mello with his leather and chains and cracked faith. The one thing one had to know, in Matt's opinion about Mello, is that he always wanted what he couldn't have - more money and more men, but most importantly, L. The only person who hadn't crumbled into a puddle of sexual need an hour or less after Mello had set his sights into worming his way into his bed.

But he had to admit, under all the leather and chains and cracked faith, Mello was the epitome of sex and everyone in the club knew it.


	2. Chocolate and Leather

**Angela: **I totally forgot to thank Hikari Daeron for her absolutely stunning beta job last chapter, and I apologize for that HikaBean. O: As an apology, when you come visit for my birthday, I have every intention of kidnapping you and whisking you off to marry me. Kay? Kay.

Still credit to Contemptus as well as myself since we're writing this together. No changes to that since last chapter and we're not expecting any either.

* * *

Mello ended up at the back of the club in the lap of a man who looked like a horse's ass and smelled even worse. He ignored it though, more interested in the cash that was being slipped into various places along his clothes, mainly in the waistband of his leather pants. When the man slid a hand a little too close for comfort, he slid off his lap and, with a twist of his hips, moved away. "You touch and I leave," he warned silkily, before moving off to the drunkard's friend and sliding onto his lap instead.

When Mello passed without so much as a glance in his direction, Near felt himself burn, but whether in lust or jealousy he wasn't sure. Even as his insides seemed to shift and writhe with unidentified emotions, his rationality whispered coldly in his mind, _MelloMelloMello what you do to me. You act so coy, so hard to get. But I can wait, I am a patient man, while you- you are not, my Mello.___

My Mello…

Yes, Near liked the sound of that.

Matt, from his perch by the bar, burned for another reason entirely. He brooded silently over his drink and wished, not for the first time, that L would just give up and sleep with Mello so that Near could move on to bigger and better things. It was almost sad to see him pine away like that. Matt tactfully turned a blind eye to how hypocritical that was, and instead wondered how much more vodka he could handle before he needed to hitch a ride home If – well, when – it came to that, L would take it keys.

_L, L, L_

_'It always loops back to him,' _Matt thought bitterly.

L's eyes roamed the club, before landing on Matt.

"You look bitter tonight," he said curtly. He counted the shot glasses next to him before holding out a hand. "Keys, Matt." He waited silently for the jingle.

Matt sighed heavily and fished around in his vest pockets for a moment before withdrawing a set of battered keys on a Mario key chain and dropping them into L's outstretched hand. He'd known it was coming, after all. Actually…

His eyes narrowed into a veiled glare. In his inebriated mind, everything was L's fault. Good thing he wasn't an angry drunk, or he probably would have been thrown out for attempted murder. Damn bartenders and their ethics…

Speaking of which, since happy hour was just about to commence, the second, backup barkeep would be arriving soon.

B came out of nowhere, sliding himself behind the counter and behind L. "Happy to see me?" he asked, both to L and to Matt. "And I'm on time tonight, look at that. Where's Mello?"

Matt, in his alcoholic haze, did not have a whole lot of reaction to the sudden appearance of L's… almost twin. The girls at the end of the - hey, a guy had joined them, when did that happen? – bar yelped a bit, and one even muttered to her friend, "Where the hell did he come from?" Another guy - who_ must _have gotten in with a fake ID, no_ way_ was he of age – mentioned stupidly, "Hey, hey guys? Either I'm super smashed or seeing double."

But back to the matter at hand. B had asked something, right? Think Matt! _Jesus his eyes are creepy._ The drunken young man blinked slowly before shrugging, finally comprehending the question. Let L take this one. He lit up a fresh cigarette and eyed the bottles on the counter, wanting a drink.

Misa shuddered slightly at the attention, a mildly repulsed look on her face. She hung of Takada's arm and whined something in a high-pitched slur. Takada ordered another drink to quell the headache throbbing between her temples, and tried her best to ignore her. It was times like these that she wished she was straight and married to a middle-aged accountant.

Matt watched this scene and sniggered quietly from behind his cigarette. Human reactions were probably the most entertaining things to watch, aside from porn and video games, of course.

B, of course, found this highly amusing and winked at Misa again. "L took your keys?" he asked Matt, noting the empty shot glasses and holding out a full one for Matt. He looked like he'd appreciate it.

Matt wondered why everyone disliked B – clearly, he was the kinder of the two bartenders, and therefore deserved much praise and love. Or something. Matt was too drunk to give a damn and he knocked back the vodka with a thankful and lazy grin.

On her stool, Misa's skin crawled and her left eye almost twitched. Takada made a face and _really_ wanted that drink. _Now_. And where the hell was Mikami? Must have left already, she decided, annoyed. Snuck out because there was nothing left to watch.

Bastard._Takada. Drink. _Now, she told herself and ordered another. B happily poured it for her, and leaned over. "Problem, sweetie?"

Takada eyed the man with hooded eyes. He looked vaguely… _homeless._ She blinked and shrugged, tossing back the drink without pausing to stop or breath. She knew she'd kick herself in the morning, but she she didn't give a damn. "You want me to list 'em?"

He laughed. "I can do without." A refill. "On the house."

Takada smiled then, a short-lived thing, but pretty nonetheless. She mentally re-evaluated this man as she accepted the drink. Misa had turned to one of her many admirers and was flirting with them. Takada didn't_ really_ mind. It wasn't like she was going home with any of them. "Thanks."

"Welcome sweetheart. Has L been giving you the cold shoulder then?" he asked teasingly. "He's such a bore," he added as L gave him a swift kick in the behind. He brushed it off.

Takada chuckled, "Workplace abuse, how cute." She squeezed the lemon garnish of her drink, and stirred it with the tip on one finger. Misa laughed, loud and fake. She rolled her eyes.

B just smiled.

It wasn't a nice one, but it wasn't cruel either. He briefly turned away from Takada and handed her a napkin. "Don't spill it now. I don't want to clean the counter." Takada smirked faintly again, mildly unsettled, and sucked her finger clean. The napkin was used as a coaster and the minute hand of the clock ticked on, still killing time.

Matt's lost count of how many cigarettes he smoked, how many shots he downed – it was all lost in a blissful haze.

Mello had been on and off the stage again three times by the time L and B informed the patrons that it was last call and to finish their drinks and go home. People groaned, and some eyed Mello in all his leather glory as he strutted out the front door and climbed onto a motorcycle. He was drunk as hell but no one offered him a ride and no one took his keys.

He'd get home just fine.

Matt rolled his eyes and stood, finally paying the tab he's built up over the night. He was right- almost half his paycheck was gone. Not too bad for a night's work. He stumbled out into the oncoming gray dawn.

Misa and Takada paid too - well, that was a lie. Takada paid for them both, since Misa conveniently "forgot" her wallet at home. They leaned on each other as they staggered to the nearest bus stop outside the door.

Mello was waiting for Matt - Mail rather, Matt had left the minute he'd come out – outside. He'd become Mihael again, sitting on his motorcycle and watching Mail stagger out of the building. "I'll give you a ride," he offered, holding out a spare helmet. It had become routine for him to offer, even on those nights when Mail declined.

Mail just smiled, and reached for the offered helmet, "Thanks man - you sure you're okay to drive?" He wasn't in any better condition, but he could hold his booze better than Mihael ever could - Mello he's not too sure about. He never went drinking with Mello.

Mihael smiled. "Mello can hold his vodka," he said, as if that answered the question, as if 'Mello' was someone else and not himself - which in a way was true. "Get on."

Mail laughed again and climbed on. The ride to his apartment was silent. "I think I'll crash here tonight," Mihael said when he parked.

Mail raised his brows but ambled up the walk to his apartment complex, Mihael in tow. "Knock yourself out, Boss." He yanked open the door to let Mihael through first. He staggered inside and made it to the bathroom before he got sick. Mello was replaced with Mihael now, and Mihael never could hold his liquor. Mail nearly laughed – funny, how you can know someone better than you know yourself sometimes. He'd known Mihael for years; they were next-door neighbours as kids. Inseparable, they were. Mello was new, Mello was different - but Mihael always came back at dawn. Like some sort of werewolf or something. Mail laughed drunkenly at the ceiling and collapsed onto his battered, threadbare couch.

Mihael gave him a dark look as he came into the room. "Oh, be quiet," he told him, throwing self onto the couch next to him. "I'll sleep here."

Mail snorted, still giggling like a moron. A_ drunk_ moron. "Good. I wasn't planning on giving you my bed." Mail nudged a tangle of game station wires, controllers and games with his foot, just to see the pile topple, and looked at the clock on the wall. 5:47. Slowly, Mail stood, proclaiming easily, "Mihael, my friend, I think it's time to call it a night." The sun had started rising in the east, and its weak gray light filtered through layers of smog and pollution into the dingy apartment.

"Mail Jeevas, I believe you are right," was the drunken reply. Mihael rolled over on the dirty old couch and gave him a weak grin. "And I got the rest of the week off. Wanna go get drunk as hell later?"

Mail laughed again, louder this time. "You need to ask?" He staggered toward his bedroom with a "Let's sleep this one off first kay?" trailing behind him.

"Great. We'll live it up in the fast lane," the blonde slurred back, already on the edges of unconsciousness.

Mail laughed again as he flopped belly-down on his bed. It was an odd mix of Mihael and Mello in that last statement, he was sure of it. But he decided to think about it later – maybe after he woke up.

He was out cold, lost in blackblackblack about two minutes after that.


	3. Alcoholic Cactus

**Angela: **AND HERE WE HAVE CHAPTER THREE :3 ENJOY. -

**Disclaimer: **Angela and MiniMix and Contemptus regrettably do not own Death Note.There'd be more Matt and less Light.

* * *

Mihael groaned into the couch cushion when he awoke, not wanting to get up. After a ten minute internal debate, he slid from the couch to the floor, head pounding. "Mail? You up?"

There was a moment of silence before Mail replied as he stepped, worn and pale, from the bathroom wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Yeah 'Hael, I'm up."

After popping a couple of aspirins for his killer hangover, Mail slunk into the living room to sprawl next to Mihael on the ground. He handed the bottle of pills to his friend without opening his eyes. Mihael downed three, ignoring the overdose label on the bottle. He didn't need water anymore. "We sleeping today or are we gonna go drink our hangovers away?"

Mail stopped to think, and he dragged a hand over his face groggily. "I can live with drinking myself into oblivion. It's what? Noon?"

"Just about yeah. Drunken ass."

"Hah. Hypocrite."

There was a moment of silence, and Mail wondered with sudden urgency,_ What day is it? What month?_ Damn drinking really fucked him up. Shame he had no will power to speak of. Oh well. It was such a great feeling.

Mihael rolled over on top of Mail, really not caring about personal space or boundaries. "Fuuuuuuuuck," he groaned, using Mail's shoulder as a pillow to block out the sunlight.

Mail sighed heavily, and whined back in a drawl while one hand rested on Mihael's shoulder, "I feel your pain man, now stop whining and go shower. You smell like booze and sex and dirty old men." He flopped limply against the side of the couch and wondered if dying was an option.

Mihael snorted. "You smell Mello, not me," he said lazily before climbing to his feet and staggering off to do as told. And fuck if he wasn't still drunk. Mail called halfheartedly after his best friend, sometime roommate, "It's not healthy to refer to your other personality like that..."

It was a long running joke between them. When Mihael talked about his job, he talked about Mello like they were different people. Yeah, he sounded like a schizophrenic, but that was actually kind of funny. Just a little.

The blonde smiled into his hand as he covered his mouth and went to make food. "And you shouldn't drink yourself to death."

"Ah, 'Hael, life will kill me before booze or the cigs do." He smiled faintly, vaguely aware that he wanted a shower. But something told Mail that if he tried, he would drown in the bottom of the tub… or some shit like that anyway. He stayed where he was instead and lolled his head to one side to watch Mihael leave.

The other just laughed. It hurt his ears, causing him to groan. "Damn."

Mail chuckled, slumping sideways onto the floor. "Ah,

ah- I say we sleep this one off. We're both still smashed. We have plenty of time to get shitfaced later."

"Yeah, sure," agreed the blonde, slumping to the kitchen floor. Screw comfort, he wanted sleep. Mail curled up on his side and stared through half lidded eyes at the tangles of wires and games and controllers. Somewhere inside of him was an urge to play. Something reminds him of a new game he bought not too long ago, a game that he had planned to break it in… But then something reminded him that his limbs were lead and he stayed where he was.

He yawned and closed his eyes. Mihael shifted on the kitchen floor where he'd let himself fall and closed his eyes. "'Ey, Mail."

"Uhhhmmf." While Matt had a great, shady/bad boy sort of charisma, Mail had bad manners and was generally rather anti-social. He didn't even bother to fully open his mouth before he spoke, leading to mumbling, odd noises, and general confusion.

Mihael was used to this though, and sat up. "Mail."

With a heavy sigh Mail opened his eyes and rolled onto his back to get more comfortable. Looked like he wouldn't be sleeping for a while. "Yeah, Mihael?"

"Let's go get some beer and take a drive."

Mail sat up,_ yes master of course master anything you say master Keehl._ "… Kay."

"Great. I want to go tearing through the desert roads at a hundred eighty miles an hour right about now while drinking. We'll take the car." Just like old times, back when things were good, when life wasn't a hellhole. Back before Mello and leather and cracked faith and_ L._

Mail had to laugh – it was like a bad case of deja vu. He rose to his feet and felt the world turn and his joints pop. But despite all that he felt himself smirk. "I'll let you drive then."

He remembered now: they were 16 and life was hella good. A Saturday, if he recalled correctly. Mihael had been in good spirits - topping the best and staying number one at their pretentious boarding school for officially 8 years would do that to anyone, really. They'd celebrated by getting hammered (illegally of course), hijacking a car, and taking it for a dusk-till-dawn joyride through the backcountry roads.

Mihael had driven then, too. Going over a hundred and eighty with a beer in one hand and the wheel in another, laughing at whatever Mail had said - or tried to say anyway, the radio had been at full blast so most of their words had barely been heard. Mail had stuck a cigarette in his mouth and jiggled a bottle of vodka in his hand. They'd finally pulled over out in the middle of the desert, and had just sat there watching the sun rise and spewing their drunken philosophies.

They'd done it again every weekend until two years ago, when Mello had taken over Mihael's life.

The car was hot as Mail shifted to get comfortable - almost as hot as the cigarette smoke burning his lungs, as hot as the desert sun had been all those years ago. He propped a booted foot against the dashboard and leaned back, his DS in his hands.

Mihael took a quick swig of beer - the backseat had a few cases of beer now, and they intended to drink it all - before tearing out of Mail's driveway down the street. Screw speed limits, the windowswere down and he wanted to feel the wind in his hair. "Shit Mail, if we crash, I don't think we'll make it. That fine with you?" he asked, tossing back more of the alcohol in his hand.

Mail snorted. "Fuck yeah. Live fast, die young, an' all that shit, right?" He'd been with Mihael how long? and he's just getting around to asking if he'd mind dying? (Not that Mail would, life got boring. At least death would be something new and untried.)

"Yeah, yeah," he said, turning the volume up to the max and flipping on a station. He'd be lying if he said he was sober. The beer can was empty now and he tossed it out the window and pointed to the backseat, leather gloves shining in the sunlight. "Get me another one, man. I want to be so drunk I'm seeing double when we get out there." Already he could see the city limits, coming up fast. In another minute or two they'd be out of L.A. and in the desert with nothing but the wind and the sand.

Mail rolled his eyes and flipped off his game, reaching back to grab them both a lukewarm beer. "Yeah, yeah. Demanding, much?" He yawned and watched in muted fascination as the city blurred around them, before dissolving completely.

"You know it, bitch," was the reply. Mihael popped open the can with his teeth and one hand, using another and his knee to keep the car straight while he downed it. "Fuck if you care though." They were in the desert now and he was laughing like an idiot because they were speeding so fast he could barely see the ground beneath them and it was_ funny_ because it reminded him of life - and whoops now he was so drunk now that he could barely think.

"Hey, hey Mail." It was obvious to Mail by the way the car swerved for a split second that Mihael was drunk already. But he just laughed it off. "Shit, I think I'm drunker than I was last night."

Mail nearly choked on his booze. "Fuck, man." He personally was an odd, brooding drunk. He kept his thoughts to himself, unlike a certain blonde who said whatever came to mind. But not our redhead, not Mail. He let the negativity eat away at him. To stop thinking, just for a while, he knocked back the last of the beer and reached for another.

Mihael was still laughing like a drunken idiot. "It's like life, right? The ground. It's going so fast Mail. Look, see?" He pointed with his hand, only his knee keeping them straight for a second before they swerved some more. He grabbed the wheel again. "Oh, Mail, fuck. Remember the last time we did this?"

Then Mail laughed, nodding too, because_ fuck man,_ all this bad shit – man, what bullshit. And hell, Mihael came up with some of the weirdest shit when he was hammered. "Yeah, fuck. Why'd we stop?" Beer loosened his tongue, but it wasn't not like they were ever going to talk about this after they sobered up. It was one of their rules, right up there with 'don't touch Mihael's chocolate _ever'_ and 'Mail always needs 80 hours a week of solid gaming _minimum_'.

And Mihael was laughing too and he couldn't stop, and he wondered idly in the back of his alcohol-filled mind if he was crying too. It'd been a rough two years. "Shit, I don't know man. But didn't I hit a fucking_ cactus_ last time?" Psh. Of course he had. There were still puncture marks on the front end of Mail's old cadillac, where Mihael had run straight into the cactus while driving. "Oh, fuck Mail, Mail. I think I see another cactus." And he cracked up again, swerving and downing his third - or was it fourth? - beer. "Wanna hit it?"

Mail laughed and there was something in him that wondered why-_ it's the booze, gotta be the booze._ There was nothing really funny about any of what they were doing and there was something running down Mihael's face. He shrugged, remembering how long it had taken him last time to get liquefied cactus out of the engine. And then he remembered what it looked like - alien snot. That just made him laugh harder than ever.

"Fine man, whatever."

"Great." He thought he was crying with the laughter but maybe that was just sweat from the desert heat. He slammed his foot down on the gas, flooring it even as the engine screamed in protest as he raced toward the cactus. He didn't know why he wanted to hit it, but it was _funny_ to his hazy mind and it brought back memories of the last time, when they'd laughed for hours while Mail tried to get cactus goo out of his precious car. But of course, there was no cactus and they just kept going. "Aw, shit I was seeing things."

Mail couldn't stop laughing. He rasped over the word _mirage_, at least three times before giving up and exclaiming instead, "Fuck, man. Get your eyes checked!" He looked down at one hand, before raising his almost forgotten cigarette to his lips and taking a deep drag. His free hand wiped sweaty fringe from his goggled-eyes.

Mihaellaughed. He was choking on sand now, it was coming in through the windows but he refused to close them because he liked the wind. "I'm a star, man!" he said, still laughing hysterically. "I'm a star and I'm at the _top_! Isn't it great Matt-Mail?" Was he really so drunk that he was mixing up names and confusing himself? "Mihael's a star and fuck if Mello isn't proud of him, Mat-Mail."

Well that was a new one. no matter how drunk they got, Mihael had never confused him with his 'alter-ego'. Either of them really. Mail stopped smiling. It was unsettling. He couldn't help but think of crazy people locked away in straightjackets and padded cells. He started to giggle. "You're both stars, you dork. Now stop talking. You sound like a head-case."

"Ahh, but I don't think we are, Mail." He wasn't laughing anymore, but he was still drunk as a dog and drinking. "Shit Mail. Shit, shit. I haven't drunk this much in forever."

Mail rolled his eyes and gulped the last of quickly warming beer. "Why not, then?" The can was tossed indifferently out the window and a half-empty bottle of vodka rolled around under his propped up feet. He fished for it and raised the bottle to his lips carefully. He pulled away instead and offered the bottle to Me-Mihael. _Fuck, now I'm doing it too!_

Mihael took it and downed the entire bottle in one go, chugging like he wouldn't live to see the next day. "Fuck, let's get batshit drunk Mail, and then let's ditch this city. We'll drive around until we find something fun to do. Screw the_ CatSkin_ and screw L.A." As much as he wanted to believe that's what they would do, Mihael wouldn't leave Los Angeles. He wouldn't leave the _CatSkin. _He wouldn't leave _L._

Mail snorted, "Whatever you say, M." He knew Mihael was full of bullshit – he was too obsessed and hardheaded to just give up and move on. It was predictable and almost comforting. Mail slouched and fished around for another beer. Heat waves were shimmering on the road like little puddles and he squinted behind his goggles, not comprehending, and fuck he's _drunk_, ain't he?

Mihael started laughing again. "Oh, Mail, Mail, Mail. Mello - he's a star you know - one day, his name'll be everywhere. All over L.A., baby. On every sign and every board and his pictures plastered on the TV. And then - " Here he cut himself off to sip his beer and giggle like a girl. "Then Mihael's gonna just go away because no one loves Mihael, they love_ Mello_. And I don't think Mello's gonna care."

Mail shivered a bit, even in his drunken stupor, even in the blistering heat. This… rant, this whatever-it-was, it was kind of… creepy. He wondered a moment, snapping the tab of his beer and said over the blaring rock music, "That's fucked up, M. Even for you. Mello's a prick, just so you know." That last bit was offhand, but it was true, and wasn't that what counted?

Mihael started laughing. "Bitch, please. Even_ you_ know Mello's sexy." He chugged back another beer. They were almost all gone now, the two had been drinking for so long that the sun was going down. "It's what he gets paid for."

It was obvious to Mail under the setting sun covering Mihael in what looked like molten fire on leather on drunken stupors that while Mello was the epitome of sex, Mihael was just a pathetic drunk.


	4. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

Okay! Chapter four here. Sorry it took so long, I keep distracting our beta with RP when she should be working, it's totally my fault. (But she does a killer L so I can't complain. -rolls-)

Someone pointed out there's been a lot of MattMello interaction. We know. Next chapter gets some other characters back in on the action and the one after that does as well. Patience grasshoppers, patience.

Very much thanks to Hikari Daeron for her wonderful job as beta and for calling me after hours even when she shouldn't be on her phone. (You know I love you.)

* * *

It was nearing sunrise when Mihael put the car in drive and started down the road back to Mail's apartment. They'd spent hours talking about everything that came to mind. Old times, Mihael's job, Mello, Matt. Even Near had come up once or twice and Mihael had no problem getting a drunken Mail to spill what he thought of the other man. Mihael had laughed when he'd admitted to being attracted to him, and had told him to go for it. It wasn't like he liked the guy.

The sunrise, Mail knew, was usually a beautiful thing. However, he preferred to throw an arm over his bare eyes to block the sight. His eyes hurt like fuck and the beer was running out of his system, bitchslapping his insides as a parting gift. "Hey, M. What're ya gonna do with the rest of your time off?"

Mihael snorted. "Sleep, or get my drunken ass even more drunk. Maybe get laid." He was calm now, fairly clear-headed. Nowhere near sober, but no longer piss drunk the way he'd been before, on the way out.

Mail gave a hollow laugh and shifted to get more comfortable. "You burn through money and booze faster than I do. Fuck, man." His goggles hung dejected around his neck because the soft material of his sleeve felt good against his eyelids; it was an odd thing to notice, but Mail usually wore some sort of shield.

Mihael parked the car outside the building and climbed out, staggering from the car to the door. "Oh, Mail, shit. I hate the hangovers."

Mail followed, as he tended to do. "Take some painkilllers and sleep it off like a normal person. Or find more booze." He stumbled up the steps and unlocked the apartment door. "Crashing here again?"

"Fuck, yeah. I don't think I can make it back home in one piece. And nothing to do there anyway."

Mail snorted, biting back the slur of, 'No-_one_, you mean'. He walked into his cluttered home and flopped onto the couch. "Deja vu," he muttered under his breath.

Mihael fought with the tangle of wires in an attempt to set up Mail's playstation.

Mail watched with vast amusement - for all his achievements, Mihael was a horrid technician, he was computer-challenged, the list went on and on and _oh **lord**, Mail-y, remember the time he tried to set up the clock on the VCR? Good times, good times._ Mail chuckled quietly at that thought.

Mihael looked up at him. Mail was almost unnerved – it was almost like he was staring through him instead of at. But then he shoved the ball of wires at his friend. "Do it," he commanded, and for a second it was like they were kids again: Mihael, frustrated with the wires, coming to Mail for help. (Mihael never could try for long.)

Nodding, Mail leant forward and slipped onto the floor, fingers easily working through the tangles as he set it up. It took him all of two minutes to get everything ready, complete with two controllers and the TV on. "Which game?"

"Ionno. What you got?" the blonde asked, ignoring the throbbing of his head.

Mail waved a hand leisurely at his impressive collection. Everything was in its case, stacked neatly in CD racks. "Take your pick."

Mihael browsed for a moment before yanking one off the rack and popping it in. "This'll do." It was a fighting game, because he felt the need to mash buttons while killing random things.

Mail rolled his eyes. _Typical M._ He plucked his controller from the floor and chose the character that appealed to him most. He'd beaten this game at least 100 times, considering he'd had it since he was 16 and didn't find it a challenge. But he kept it because of the gore and blood and realistic fight scenes. That and Mihael liked to kill things too.

He was already mashing buttons impatiently, waiting for Mail to hurry and let him select a stage.

A dark chuckle. "Chill out. You'll get your shot."

"Just hurry up."

"Fine, go." Mail leaned back, reclining against the front of the couch.

Mihael sat next to him, and began attacking his controller and watching things fall to his player. He'd played the game loads of times with Mail before, but he'd never bothered with strategy. Button-mashing worked just fine for him.

Mail, in contrast, knew this game so well he'd memorized all the combos and tricks. He used the least effort possible to hit the right button sequence for a major damage combo and blinked slowly, yawning.

Mihael jabbed him with an elbow, still smashing buttons left and right. "Come on, move faster."

Mail rolled his eyes and shoved back, picking up the pace. "Yeah, that's what she said." _Wow Mail-y, het-sex jokes? Oh how the mighty have fallen._

_STFU, Matt._

_Insulting me in chatspeak, Mail-y? You really _are_ a nerd._

_Fuck off._

Mihael just jabbed him again. "At least I can get laid," he shot back, grinning. It was routine now, that's all it was. He wondered vaguely if Mail still tasted like cigarettes, before he realized that was the alcohol still in his system talking. They'd kissed only once in their entire life, and it had been decided then that they'd just stay friends. Besides, he liked L better. _Always_ L.

Dating Mail would have been too awkward.

Mail rolled his eyes, flipping dark hair out of them. "Not that I'd want to, freak." Yeah, keep up the game, the facade. That's all it was, really. He'd always been good at lying.

_Liar, liar Mail-y. _

_Shut the fuck up Matt._

Mail narrowed his eyes slightly and gave up his halfhearted attempts and started button mashing viciously.

Mihael waved a hand and turned his attention back to the TV. "Your left, man. Damn, you're sucking at this today. Too drunk to function?"

"Something like that." Mail wanted a cigarette. Matt wanted to jump someone. It was pretty sad how he was beginning to think Matt was a real person, a _different_ person. Mail went for the cigarettes he kept in his vest and _god damn I'm out_. He threw down his controller and made for the door. "I'm getting smokes, want anything?"

"Some chocolate," he said, looking up and pausing the game. "I'll come with you." He got up off the floor, tossing the controller down. "You're out of it."

A shrug. Mail really wanted a cigarette. "I guess." They were pretty much sober now - virtual manslaughter did that to a person. Mail wandered down to the sidewalk, the air smoggy and just starting to warm up. There was a store a block or so away and he was determined to get to it.

Mihael frowned at him. "What's wrong with you? Is it that Near thing? Because seriously, just go for it."

"Hah. Pretty hard - he's_ your_ stalker, remember?" There was a quiet moment before Mail sniggered again. "It seems that against all my caution I managed to get tangled up in your love life. Again. God, this is so fucked up." Usually, Mail was able to sit back and pick a situation apart, but Matt, he liked to be in the thick of things, starting shit. His problem was obvious.

Mihael just snorted. "I don't like him. Fuck, I don't care if you chase him down. Hell, please do. Get him off my back."

"Hard to chase someone who won't run." Mail yawned, breathing the smog and city fumes. He stepped into the cornerstore with a nod to the girl behind the counter - it paid to by bi sometimes. He'd been here often enough that the girl - her name was Melissa - knew what he wanted. There was a pack of smokes and eight chocolate bars on the counter by the time he ambled up to pay.

And she was flirting with him and Mihael just watched. He was bi himself, but he preferred men-mainly L. Melissa slid an extra pack into the bag while Mail paid, telling him it was on the house.

Mail smirked, a wry little twitch of his lips. "Thanks." She handed him his change in a way that their hands brushed and lingered, but Mail just raised his brows - suggestive, amused, who could tell? Then he walked out, tearing at the cellophane wrapping and digging in his pockets for a lighter.

She watched him go with a smile before hugging her fingers as Mihael left with a grin.

Mail was exhaling his first smoke-breath when Mihael wandered out. He watched the smoke swirl and twist through the air mildly, before yawning and taking another hit, starting to walk.

"She likes you," the blonde commented, catching up.

"Of course she does, are you surprised? I'm no Mello but I'm good enough." He shrugged and slowed his pace to accommodate Mihael's slower walk. He handed off the bag of chocolate to his friend and went back to flicking his lighter, bored.

Mihael tore into the chocolate. "No one ever said you weren't. You're better than Mello."

Mail snorted, taking another drag and hold it until black spots danced in front of his eyes. Then he let it go, slowly, easily, and watched the smoke curl and burn and damn it was so fucking _good_.

"Mello's just a prick, remember?" Mihael grinned slightly, and waved a hand. "Just get laid."

Mail chuckled against his better judgment. "Duly noted." His tone was dry and he rolled his eyes, wondering with a jolt where the fuck his goggles were, and how long he hadn't been wearing them. He was _wondering_ why things were looking funny and bright! Without the orange tint, Mail had seen 'reality' for the first time in a while. He shuddered quietly. It wasn't as pretty as people told him it was.

Mihael held them out. "Took you long enough to notice."

Mail glared darkly at his companion before snatching the goggles from him with a huff – but the threat was lost, he looked about as threatening as a baby chipmunk caught in the rain. To compensate, he promptly clubbed Mihael over the head with them.

He rubbed his head and laughed. "I was expecting that."

Mail shook his head but laughed a bit, pulling the goggles over his eyes. It took him a minute to adjust to the orange world before he wandered up the steps to his apartment. "I totally should lock you out for that," he said, as if his crappy lock could stand up to one of Mihael's ass-kicker boots. That was what he had the computerized security system for. A person had five minutes to enter the correct code or the entire apartment complex went up in smoke.

But his response made the blonde laugh again. "Yeah, yeah. You won't."

Another eye roll. "Maybe."

"Yeah, right."

A shrug, and Mail opened the door only to slam it shut in M's face a heartbeat later. The deadbolt slide home and Mail ran to keep his apartment from being blown sky high. He rolled his eyes at the fuss Mihael was kicking up, wondering why his neighbours hadn't gotten him evicted yet.

And Mihael was busy kicking the door, still grinning. He should have expected this.

Carefully, Mail waited, hovering by the door until he knew a kick was about to land. Then he ripped open the door and stepped neatly aside in time to see Mihael literally fall into his apartment. "I should have guessed you'd be so happy to see me," he said innocently, lips twitching.

Mihael sat up to glare at him before blinking and laughing. "Assfucker."

Mail cackled at that and slammed the door shut. "Cocksucker."

"And?"

Mail once again rolled his eyes and shook his head in mock despair, tapping ash from his cigarette onto the floor indifferently. "I don't know why I put up with you." He inhaled the tar and smoke and cancer easily, prodding Mihael with the toe of his steel-toed boots.

"Because you love me," was the response as he climbed to his feet, still eating chocolate.

Mail snorted in amusement. "Yeah, I guess." He wandered into the kitchen, suddenly hungry. "Fuck, what time is it?"

"Sometime after noon?" he answered, not really sure.

Mail shrugged, peering into his barren fridge. "… M, we have no food."

"Don't we?"

"Did I stutter?" Mail grabbed himself a bottle of some no-name sports drink and headed to the couch. He glanced at the paused fighting game. "Wanna finish?"

"Yeah." He handed him the controller and grabbed his own before leaning back. "Then go shopping later. I'm sure she'll give you free food."

Mail chuckled, grabbing the control and unpausing the game. "It'd be fun to try, I guess." He flicked brown fringe out of his eyes and thought about dying it dark red again. Then he started smashing buttons to keep up with Mihael.

Mihael grinned. "Oh yeah. Flutter your eyes at her and she'll give you all you want."

Mail grinned back, and with a dramatic flair and swish of his hair, "Oh, the innuendo." Screw the dye, maybe he should just cut it.

Snort. "Go on and do it man."

A soft flick and his hair's hanging in his face again. Definitely the cut. An eye roll and on screen a zombie's head exploded in a shower of gore.

"Want me to cut it?"

Mail actually laughed. "The last time you cut my hair, I ended up half bald and burned. How you managed that with a blow dryer and a hair straightener, I'll never know."

"I'm better now."

"Who've you been practicing on? The stash of Barbies you keep in the back of your closet?" It was like they were fourteen again.

"I don't have Barbies. B helped."

"I was wondering why his hair looked lopsided." A beat, and then a drawn out sigh. " Alright."

He went to find the scissors. "It grew back."

"After how many months?" The game paused mid-explosion, leaving something bright and pixilated to look at. Mail tugged down his goggles and went to help Mihael in his search.

The latter held up the pair. "Two weeks."

Mail cringed. "Yeah, yeah - so you tell me. Don't screw up." He led the way to the bathroom, because there was no way in hell he was going to try and clean hair from carpet. He didn't even own a vacuum.

"Yeah, yeah."

Mail rolled his eyes. That was getting to be a habit; he'd already lost count of all the times he'd done it in the last hour. Damn.

With a flourish, Mihael sat him down and took the goggles away so he could cut properly.

The once-redhead gave him an annoyed look from behind sheepdog fringe. Mail never liked to be separated from his goggles, for whatever the reason. It was an odd but cute quirk, as Melissa might say.

"You want to lose all your hair?" he asked, setting them in Mail's lap and taking up the scissors.

"Try it and I'll shave your head while you sleep, Blondie." The sad thing was, that'd already happened - they were, what? Twelve? Thirteen? Mihael had, in fact, broken three of Mail's playstation games and his gameboy in a tantrum and Mail had been forced to react accordingly.

Sharing a room had its pros and cons, after all. Mihael had not been pleased.

Mail chuckled quietly, blinking snips of hair out of his eyes. Sure it'd been hell trying to use the shaving cream and the (pink) disposable razor, but it'd been worth it. Mihael looked like crap with short hair, in his opinion. And the House's picture day had been the next morning – so, of course, Mihael just _had _to have great timing. He'd subsequently shaved Matt bald the next day when he was sleeping, so they'd both had bald pictures. Ah, memories…

More snips before he stood back. "You look like sex, you know. Go get laid."

Mail combed his fingers through his new, hardly shorter hair and grinned a bit, looking in the cracked mirror. "Good to have your blessing, then." He smirked faintly and shifted, like liquid, out of the bathroom.

The other tossed the scissors down. "Yeah, ain't it?"

Mail sniffed in amusement, a half shrug, and he had to actually – _consciously _– stop himself from rolling his eyes. "This is fucking boring."

"I know. Let's go get laid."

"... Kay." A shrug, and Mail ducked into his bedroom to rummage through his closet. He hasn't actually changed his clothes in what, a day almost? The current shirt was black and white and striped, and who wasn't surprised? "One track mind, much?"

"Yup. We'll go clubbing and pick up girls for some good sex."

Another eye roll. Mail didn't see a need to bother breaking that habit - or any habit really. Life was too short and he didn't care, not really – it was either nonchalance or indifference. And Matt was the truly apathetic one. Sarcastically, he said, "Good to know your master plan."

"Of course it is." Idly, the blonde glanced into the closet. Mail had nothing he liked to wear, so he decided to stop by his place to change.

Mail stared into his closet for a long minute before digging through, looking for a pair of black jeans - the ones with the chain. Finding them, he yanked them on and switched his shirt to a red, long-sleeved one. A hand ran through his hair, mussing it. "Kay." It'd never taken Mail long to look like sex.

The other grinned. "Good. I'll stop at mine so I can change."

"Of course." He didn't expect any less, and grabbed his keys, jingling them a bit as he made for the door, setting the system.

Mihael was already outside, waiting for Mail. He swung a leg over his bike. "Meet you at the _CatSkin_? We'll start there and work our way across the city."

A nod. "Got it, boss." Mail had a hundred different nicknames for Mihael, all stemming for his boredom and need to see different reactions: M, 'Hael, Boss, Master, man-whore... the list went on and on.

Mihael made a hand motion that could be called a wave before setting off.

An eye roll, and the caddy's engine purred as Mail guided her back to a familiar get-away.


End file.
